Chapter Text
It all started with a—
“Midoriya-sensei! Kiyoko-chan threw up on my reading book!”
—because of course it did. It was the beginning of the school day, and these were very sticky four-to-six year-olds Izuku was dealing with. Bumps and bruises, occasional wardrobe malfunction, mishaps with bodily fluids, the like—all incredibly commonplace. All part of Izuku’s teaching job—a job which he loved, he reminded himself, as he sighed and grabbed a roll of tissue.
Mr. Midoriya Izuku was well-versed in the protocol. Locate and clean the hazard (at the back of the room—oh god, some of it was spreading under the resource closet); soothe and clean up the sick student as much as he could (a bit difficult when Akiyama had started wailing inconsolably for her mother as soon as she finished throwing up her breakfast); get Shouto to take over the class, and as soon as he did—firmly steer his student towards the reception.
“Good morning Izuku-kun! Ah—looks like someone’s had a bit of an accident,” Toga Himiko, Aldera’s receptionist, cheered as he buzzed open the door. “Come, come! Do you want some water, darling?”
He ignored Toga calling him by his given name in front of Akiyama, instead guiding her to a chair. “And a sick bowl please, Toga-san. Do you mind keeping an eye on her? I need to call a parent.”
Toga nodded, skipping off to the water dispenser just outside of the reception.
Aldera Primary’s receptionist was a strange little lady for sure, but endearingly enough so that Izuku found himself letting a lot of things slide. Most of the other teachers did the same—just a part of what Ochako liked to call ‘her Himi-charm’.
If there were two things that the teachers could be certain of, they would be firstly; that Toga Himiko was incredibly efficient at her job. Secondly; that no teacher would ever leave the reception empty-handed whenever they swung by. Usually, he got hair clips (useless for him, but they definitely kept him popular with his kids), or candy (always nice whenever he worked through his lunch breaks). It gave her a pass to do a lot.
Izuky glanced behind him. “Feeling a little better now, Kiyoko-chan? Should I ring mom?”
Akiyama shook her head, sniffling miserably, the poor thing. “Mommy’s at work.”
“Dad it is, then.” Izuku pulled a binder from the shelf, flicking through the pages. “Abe, Akai… Akamatsu…”
It was only the start of the day and Izuku was already thinking of his bed waiting for him at home. He missed his mom. Maybe he’d call her when he had his break—though he doubted she’d appreciate her adult son bothering her while she was at work herself. Briefly, he glanced at Akiyama, who seemed to be busy dipping her fingers into the cup Toga had given her and licking the water off them.
He sighed. Well, at least one of them got to go home early. If she was there, Ochako probably would’ve pointed out how Izuku-kun, you always say you want to go home, but you work like you’ll die if you take a day off—he quickly batted the thought away, flipping through a couple more pages.
Then, a loud, frustrated voice cut through Izuku’s train of thought. “Well—do you feel better about yourself now?”
He paused. Looked up, and nearly dropped the binder.
Oh wow, Izuku thought. Oh wow. If whoever he was lecturing didn’t feel better about themselves, well, Izuku certainly did. What a sight for sore eyes, goodness.
Beyond the separator in the lobby stood the hottest man Izuku had possibly ever set his eyes upon. As in the whole package and then some. Lean and lithe, with ash blonde hair and red eyes that were sharp with clarity and a little anger. His face was somehow both delicate and striking all at once—the type that belonged on billboards or catwalks. You know, high cheekbones, strong jaw, no flaws, aside from what seemed to be a bloody bottom lip—and even that seemed more like a bonus than anything. Ravishing. Absolutely beyond his type. Me-oww. Who was this? What the hell was someone this good-looking doing in a school?
The man folded his arms over his chest, raising his brows expectantly, and Izuku nearly fainted on the spot. There’s no way someone could be that fine and walk around dressed like that on accident—shirt sleeves folded up to his elbows, wearing the hell out of those pants? Glasses perched on that perfect nose? No goddamn way. That type of behaviour was carefully planned with the intention to kill. What had Izuku done in a previous life to deserve such a piece of eye-candy?
Toga sat back down on her desk chair, eyeing Izuku, wiping her wet hands off on her skirt. “You need help there, Izuku-kun? Akiyama should be quite high-up on the contact list.”
“It’s fine! It’s fine, I was just—distracted,” Right, right, he had a student to deal with. Izuku turned away from the reception window, flicking hastily through the contact binder. “Ah, there we are. Akiyama Kiyoko.”
He unclipped the sheet, punching out the phone number into the landline, and pressed the phone to his ear. Beyond the window pane, the grilling continued—Izuku listened on, unable to help himself.
“Well?”
“…No, sensei.”
“Did it resolve the issues you had with Furukawa?”
“No, sensei.”
“Do you think you helped your classmates out by disrupting my lesson?”
“...No.”
“So, one more time. Would you like to tell me the truth about why exactly you punched your classmate?”
So he was a teacher—a progressively more and more irritated one, it sounded like. Izuku would hate being whoever he was scolding.
“This isn't like you at all, kid. C’mon—if you spit it out now, you’ll be in less trouble later.”
Izuku bit his lip. But jeez, that voice. On second thought, maybe he wouldn’t.
Izuku didn’t envy the blonde, though—older students were notoriously difficult to deal with. The worst of what Izuku and Shouto got was a kid throwing a tantrum, maybe falling off a swing. On the other hand, Ochako had relayed to them many a horror story of physical fights between older students over coffee in the teacher’s lounge. Sometimes, even teachers themselves got caught in the crossfire trying to break the fight up. Izuku once asked Ochako if she was speaking from experience.
“The kids would never. Ochako’s too small and cute,” Shouto had quipped through a mouthful of lunch. “It'd be like hitting a kitten.”
In return, she’d jabbed Shouto in the stomach so hard he had to get his inhaler.
Izuku looked back up, chancing another look at the beautiful stranger. Judging by the busted lip, and how the student’s eyes were absolutely plastered to the floor, this must’ve been one of the more extreme cases. Not that the guy seemed particularly bothered—hard-knock teacher for some hard-knock kids, he figured.
Suddenly, there was a static click on the landline, then a rough, disgruntled voice. “Akiyama Atsuji here, speaking?”
“Hi, this is—” As Izuku began, the teacher’s eyes flicked over towards him for a split second.
Catching him red-handed.
The eye contact sent a rush of embarrassment and adrenaline straight to his heart, making him squeak and flush pink—from his peripheral vision, Toga side-eyed him.
Feebly, Izuku offered him a smile, trying his best not to lose composure as he replied on the phone.
“Uh… I’m Izu—Midoriya, from Aldera Primary. Akiyama’s teacher. I’m calling to, uh—inform you about an incident this morning? She threw up in class, and is here with me in reception. Would it be possible for you to pick her up?”
The other teacher grimaced. Izuku’s mortification was nearly enough to take him out; he had to brace himself on the reception desk to keep himself from falling over. Could this be any worse of a first impression?
As Izuku tried to resist the urge to wrap the landline cord around his neck, the problem child on the other side of the glass panel finally gave her response. “Furukawa and Izumi were being mean!”
“And that’s a good reason to resort to physical violence?”
There was a teary sniff—poor kid. “N-no, but—but they were picking on Eunwoo!”
From what Izuku could infer, she was likely talking about Dobayashi Eunwoo—a sweet little second-year, one of the few quiet students in Ashido’s notoriously rowdy class.
“Mom always says I have to stick up for my siblings, ‘cus I’m the oldest…”
Before he could stop himself, Izuku took another peek. The problem student, who he now recognised as Dobayashi Haewon, was scrubbing at her face with her shirt sleeve, making Izuku’s chest clench a little. Socialising was always tough
for foreign students. That, paired with the Dobayashis’ natural timidity was always bound to make them prime targets for bullies.
The other teacher’s face looked equally pinched as he fished in his pocket for what Izuku assumed to be a tissue. Even with the dark expression, the blonde stranger still looked positively yummy. Especially as, oh, he dropped his head and groaned, running a hand down his face. Oh, Izuku was going to hell.
“She’s thrown up? Aww, my poor Kiyoko. That’s fine, I’ll be right around to pick her up,” Akiyama’s father responded, sounding considerably nicer. Izuku resisted the urge to sigh down the phone.
One attractive guy and all his morals just suddenly flew out of the window? He needed to get a grip. As if to reorder his wandering thoughts, Izuku pivoted away from the glass panel, distracting himself by wrapping and unwrapping the landline wire around his finger.
“Alright, that’s great. I’ll notify our receptionist that you’re on your way, if that’s okay. Bye-bye.” Izuku set the phone down, “Akiyama-san, your dad’s coming to pick you up soon! I’m going to get your stuff, okay?”
Akiyama started nodding aggressively at the word ‘dad’—despite the inconvenience, the sight got a laugh out of Izuku. Damn cute kids, even when they had dried vomit all down their cardigans and grouchy fathers.
He glanced once more at the older Dobayashi on the other side of the glass, who the blonde teacher was watching tearfully blow her nose. Even when they were getting into trouble for punching their classmates, too.
As soon as Izuku got back to his classroom, he grabbed Akiyama’s book-bag and coat, then hurried over to Shouto, who seemed to be in the middle of painting quietly with the kids. He looked a bit silly, sitting on one of the tiny kiddy stools, a wet-play apron on over his button-up shirt—but Shouto had always insisted upon getting down on the kids’ levels during their activities, and Izuku had learned since starting this job that Shouto’s modus operandi was a failsafe one.
A few kids squealed their hellos as he entered, and Izuku gave a few rushed waves back as he crouched next to his co-teacher.
Aside from being new, Izuku found himself more often than not listening to his more experienced friend’s advice.
“How do I look?” he hissed, reaching over to snag a few tissues on the table.
Shouto raised his brows, giving him a once-over. “Right now? Like a crazy person.” A few of the kids sat on the table giggled. He looked down again, swirling his brush in his pot of water. “You also have some sick on your pants. Why?”
“Have you seen a blonde teacher around school? Really fit, tall-ish. Umm, glasses? Raspy-shouty voice—stern looking.”
“…The sixth-year teacher? Bakugou?”
“His name is Bakugou?”
Shouto pursed his lips, painting a few colourful strokes on his paper. “I feel like I’m going to regret telling you that.”
“No! No, Shouto, you aren’t. I promise. I need to go—Akiyama-san’s dad is picking her up. I’ll catch you up later!”
As he made his way back out, scrubbing furiously at his pants, Shouto called out behind him. “Don’t tell him I told you his name! And don’t do anything dumb!”
Izuku grimaced at the irony. A little late for that advice.
Bakugou-sensei was still there by the time he got back to the reception, thank goodness. His student was still there too, sat in the office, tissues and a packet of sweets in hand, and considerably less sad-looking. He’d moved from where he was standing in the lobby to lean into the receptionist’s office, having slid the window open and slung his arms over its sill. In his hand was one of Toga’s colourful pens, which he tapped on his palm absent-mindedly.
Izuku swallowed hard, gripping the door handle. Christ, even him fiddling with a glittery pink biro was attractive.
“—definitely not. But I can’t just let her go scot-free, even if I would’ve done the same. Shit, I would’ve done worse. But Yao-momo would have my head on a stick by the end of the day.”
“Why don’t you just—you know. Not tell anyone? Just send her back to class and bribe the students to keep quiet about it.”
“Yeah, and a kid walking around with a busted nose would definitely go unnoticed by the entire staff body. Be serious, dipshit. What about—”
As Izuku buzzed the door open, Toga and Bakugou froze, both turning to stare at him. Like he was an intruder to their conversation, even though Akiyama was still sitting next to Toga, now slurping loudly on a juice carton. The first successfully bribed witness, it seemed.
Izuku felt himself begin to sweat, stood a little straighter, and hoped to god the stain on his pants wasn't visible.
“Uh,” he managed, very intelligently. “Could Kiyoko-chan sit in the lobby?”
Wordlessly, as she looked back and forth between the two teachers, Toga’s smile was nothing short of incredibly unsettling. Izuku suppressed a shiver. Bakugou didn’t say a word, just giving him a reserved look that Izuku, for the life of him, couldn’t decipher.
It was just his luck. He’d managed not only to have a kid throw up an hour into the school day, but to also be caught as an accidental witness to a conspiracy to cover up what seemed to be a pretty serious fight. A conspiracy led by the most attractive coworker Izuku had ever had. Without them even having exchanged a single word.
Wow. This sort of thing really could’ve only happened to Izuku.
Thankfully, Toga’s response didn’t give anything away. “Of course! Me and Katsuki-chan here were just doing a bit of small-talk. Kiyo-chan, do you want another apple juice to take home?”
As Akiyama collected her second bribe and walked out with Izuku to the lobby, Bakugou and Toga returned to their conversation—the former hissing at the latter with a glare.
“The fuck was that?”
Toga snorted. “Relax! Izuku won’t tell.”
“Oh really, now? He looks—”
“Mmh, I don’t think I know what you’re talking about,” Toga laughed, rolling her chair away from the reception desk. Izuku wondered for a moment whether the pair knew that he could, in fact, still hear them. “And don’t I think that you do either. Izuku-kun is really trustworthy! Look—”
The man in question immediately lost no time busying himself with checking Akiyama’s book bag. Why, God, why? He and Toga spoke, but not often enough for her to label him as a proper confidant. Was this her way of threatening him?
“Himiko I swear you are the worst—”
“Izuku-kun!”
The call came like a divine strike of karmic punishment for his ogling earlier. For a second, Izuku wondered whether it’d be possible to just drop all of his things and run back to class.
“Izuku-kun! Yoo-hoo!”
Oh, there was seriously no use.
Izuku lifted his head. Excruciatingly slowly. Then, he realised Bakugou was already staring at him, startled, and immediately dropped Akiyama’s bag on the floor with a dull thud. Behind him, Akiyama clapped her hands over her mouth dramatically.
“Uh-oh,” she whispered.
Uh-oh indeed.
Toga pressed a finger to her cheek, tilting her head with deceptively-innocent, wide eyes. The little devil. “Can you keep a secret?”
Bakugou squinted, leaning back against the windowpane and crossing his arms, likely sizing Izuku up. Izuku, in all of his sweaty, puke-y, dishevelled glory.
If only there was a button to make Izuku invisible. Or kill him instantly—the particulars were beginning to matter less and less.
Unfortunately, there was no such thing, so instead, Izuku opted to pick Akiyama’s bag back up with another weak smile. “Dobayashi-chan was just defending herself, right?”
Bakugou grunted, in what seemed to be agreement. Toga clapped her hands with cheerful finality.
The way Bakugou peered at him through his glasses certainly didn’t help the situation—but unfortunately, Izuku couldn’t say he wasn’t enjoying the view. He couldn’t help but focus on how Bakugou’s glasses rode low on his nose. It wasn’t clear what specific emotion the blond wore on his face was, but what he could say was that he looked ridiculously handsome expressing it—that slight tilt to his lip, the cat-whisker dimple just under his left eye. Izuku was less and less certain whether the heat under his collar was from attraction or intimidation. Probably an odd combination of both.
Bakugou himself didn’t seem to notice Izuku getting an eyeful, however, instead awkwardly clearing his throat and finally looking away. As soon as the attention was off him, Izuku heaved a silent sigh of relief, swiping at his mouth just in case he had been drooling.
If Shouto or Ochako had been there, Izuku would probably be getting called a pervert. He didn’t know how to feel about them probably being right.
“Whatever. Anyway, I’ll figure something out—I always do. A day or two of in-school suspension is fine, right? Kid’s smart, she can catch up.”
“I could even lie about calling her parents, if you want.”
“It’s sorted then. Still, I can’t believe it. How can someone be ten and xenophobic?”
Toga snorted. “Don’t you teach eleven and twelve year-olds?”
There was a smack, a yelp, then a clatter of plastic on hardwood. “Make yourself useful and give one of those lollipops. An apple-flavored one.”
“After you just threw my own pen at me!?”
Izuku shrugged Akiyama’s bag off his shoulder, dropping it onto a seat. Crouching to hold her coat open, he let her push her arm through a sleeve.
From Izuku’s first impression, Bakugou didn’t seem at all like a dogmatist. Strict and hardy, clearly—but not a rule follower. More the type to do whatever suited him, how he pleased, when it pleased him. Lucky him; students always loved those king-of-the-castle types—hell, Izuku himself loved those types when he himself was a student.
Unfortunately. Unfortunately?
He sighed to himself, a little wistfully—sue him—as he zipped Akiyama's coat up, handing over her bag as soon as she sat down. She reached a hand out, so—as was standard procedure with most five year-olds—he tilted his head to let her pat it. He wasn’t judging Bakugou though, of course not.
“Midoriya-sensei you’re silly,” Akiyama whispered, running tugging on one of his curls.
“Thank you, Kiyoko-chan. It’s a coping mechanism.”
“You’re welcome. What’s a coping mechanism, Midoriya-sensei?”
Izuku huffed, taking her hand and placing it on an armrest. “You’ll know when you’re older.”
Silly teacher-crushes didn’t stop, even well into adulthood—that was certainly clear.
As soon as Akiyama was all settled, Izuku buzzed himself back into the office, followed closely behind—surprisingly enough—by Bakugou himself. The sensation of having him on his heels was, Izuku imagined, probably how Icarus felt flying too close to the sun. He beelined straight for the other computer in the reception, quickly signing on.
As he filled out an incident form, Izuku could see Toga and Bakugou gesture at each other vaguely in the corner of his vision—was half tempted to look up and see what they were mouthing at each other. Ultimately, he decided against it, typing rapidly on the keyboard—he liked living too much, and between the two blondes, he absolutely did not want to break what little trust they had in him.
“So… you teach the kindergarteners?”
But inevitably, it seemed that Bakugou beat him to the punch. Izuku gaped at him, blinking at the question.
“Yeah, sometimes the first-years too. And you—sixth-years?”
Bakugou scrunched his nose up a little, resting his head against the reception office’s door as he unwrapped his lollipop. Probably unintentional, but the sight made Izuku flush a little nonetheless. His hair looked good pressed against the glass, really soft. Izuku wanted to touch it. “You knew that?”
“Shouto told me,” Izuku confessed, then mentally slapped himself immediately after—shit. He’d promised Shouto he wouldn’t bring his name up. To be fair, the most he’d have to do to make it up to his coworker would probably be buying him dinner. “Well—I assumed Haewon-chan over there was yours.”
At the mention of Shouto’s name, Bakugou’s face screwed up into a harsh frown. “Half ‘n Half’s been talking to you about me?”
Izuku blanched. “Well—only because I asked. Who you were—I mean.”
“What, just now?” Obviously, his coworker’s ridiculously good looks had fried all of the neurons pinging in Izuku’s brain—he couldn’t for the life of him figure out since when he’d decided to start confessing every thought that crossed his mind. And who was Half n’ Half—Shouto? “Don’t tell me you’re one of those.”
Izuku paused. “One of those?”
But then—Bakugou.. smiled? Sort of—something between a smile and baring his teeth at Izuku like he was trying to intimidate him. It was, strangely, kinda charming—he doubted anybody else would look as good with their face twisted up like that.
“You know the type,” he said. “Suck-ups.”
“...Do I look like a suck-up to you?”
“Nah,” Bakugou popped the candy in his mouth, pausing as he gave Izuku a proper one-over. For a moment, he looked pensively up towards the ceiling, before looking back down at Izuku with a borderline deadly smirk. “Nah. You look like you just kinda suck.”
“Oh.”
Less than an hour of knowing each other and Bakugou already thought Izuku was a complete loser. It was really just his luck.
“I’m kidding.” Snickering, Bakugou grabbed another lollipop from Toga’s drawer of sweets. With an indignant ‘hmph!’, she threw an eraser at him. He swatted it to the floor with ease.“Favourite flavour?”
Izuku reached up to rub his knuckles against his sternum, feeling his face burn. “Ah. Um—cherry, I guess? I’m not picky.”
With a dramatic huff, Toga flopped forwards, resting her head against her keyboard. “He’s a big bully, isn’t he, Izuku-kun?”
Bakugou rolled his eyes, discreetly flicking Toga’s forehead. “They all love it, really.”
The audacity got a laugh out of Izuku; a stupidly breathless one. It was impossible to tell whether out of delight or relief. Deciding to not think too much about it, he gingerly held out his flat palm.
“And if I don’t?” he asked.
Bakugou tossed the candy at him, fixing him with a look Izuku couldn’t place. An oddly-loaded one. “You will, then.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“My intuition is never wrong.”
Maybe that was it—maybe Izuku was simply compelled into honesty by this brash, ridiculous, stranger. This handsome vagrant. This good-looking delinquent. Yeah—it was difficult to not be enthralled by how confident the blonde was—tapping his lollipop on his teeth, glancing occasionally at Toga, who had moved to put the contact folder back on the shelf. Maybe that was why Izuku couldn’t keep his mouth closed.
“Your bottom lip. It’s—uh.” Izuku couldn’t help pointing it out either. Toga handed him a sparkly pink mirror. Holding it afar to inspect the damage, the other teacher sighed exasperatedly.
“I’ll be alright,” he grouched. “One must’ve got me in the mouth. Fuckin’ kids.”
“I don’t envy you,” Izuku turned to face his screen, feeling his neck burn, pressing submit on the report. He pushed away from the desk, spinning listlessly around on the rolling chair. “The older ones are always a bit of a handful, hm?”
Toga nodded seriously. “You’ve gotta be crazy to deal with the sixth-years. It’s why Katsuki-chan is perfect for the—”
“Look who’s talking about crazy!” Bakugou scoffed, sitting down on the reception desk, then slinging his feet over the back of Toga’s armchair. The receptionist threw one of the dirtiest looks Izuku had ever seen at him—in response, Bakugou jolted the chair back and forth, making her screech.
As they caught eyes, Izuku caught the ghost of a smirk on Bakugou’s lips. Even more devastatingly, his eyes glinted with a tease that made Izuku’s heart jump. Cheeky bastard.
“At least they can be reasoned with.”
“As opposed to?”
“Your sticky, noisy babies?”
“Hey!” Izuku feigned offence, clutching the candy he’d been unwrapping to his chest. “They can be reasoned with!”
Bakugou and Toga exchanged knowing looks. “Notice how he didn’t disagree when I said they’re sticky and noisy—”
“We’re not sticky!” exclaimed Akiyama from the other side of the divider.
Nudging his glasses up with his wrist, Bakugou snorted and jerked a thumb at the pane. “Case in point.”
Toga burst into a peal of laughter. Even Izuku couldn’t stop himself from smiling exasperatedly as he waved at his student.
“Ignore Bakugou-sensei, Kiyoko-chan! He’s just being mean.”
She waved back, grinning.
As Izuku shifted his attention to the candy in his hand, he was met with a firm poke to the back of his head. “Bakugou-sensei, huh?”
“Ow…!?” rubbing his nape, Izuku fixed a meager glare on the man sitting behind him.
Bakugou had placed one foot on the table, using his knee as a crutch to rest his face on. He looked the most peaceful he’d been in the past 20 minutes of Izuku knowing him. Almost boyish, in fact. The positioning had knocked the lenses on the blond’s face, wonky in a way that screamed for Izuku to just… reach out and fix them.
Almost instinctively, Izuku planted his arms firmly beside him on the chair, using his foot to swing the seat back and forth. “You don’t like me calling you that?”
“I don’t like Todoroki telling you that.” Bakugou ran his tongue over his bottom lip, staring Izuku down pensively over his glasses.
“It would’ve been rude for me to not know a coworker’s name,”
Bakugou leaned in slightly closer. Izuku leaned slightly away, chuckling weakly. Was this a conversation or an interrogation? “Big on first impressions, then?”
“Only the ones that matter,” he blurted out without thinking.
To his shock, Izuku saw, ever-so-slightly, the tips of Bakugou’s ears turn pink. The sight made him blanch and flush in return—had he said something weird?
Behind him, Toga snickered to herself.
Bakugou turned to scowl at her. “The fuck’s your problem?”
Toga stuck her tongue out back at him. “Nothing, you dweeb!” Twirling a lock of hair around her finger, she pointed out of the window. “Just that Kiyoko-chan’s dad is here.”
Nonchalantly, she pointed towards the door—where Akiyama’s father was pressing his face against the entrance’s glass. Upon a closer look though, Akiyama didn’t seem too upset, jumping up and down behind the door screen as father waved at her. “Daddy’s here!”
Izuku snorted. So much for being sick.
“Well,” Izuku glanced at Katsuki, trying to size him up a little longer. “Akiyama-san’s dad is here. I’m gonna go send her on her way and then head back to class—don’t wanna keep Shouto waiting.”
He signed out of the computer, giving one last shaky grin as he stood. “I’ll see you guys around, then?”
“Sure,” Bakugou huffed, running a hand through his hair and turning back to Toga, who sat, still giggling.
“You know, Izuku,” she began, fishing out a carton of juice and holding it out to him. “You’re really funny sometimes—want an apple juice?”
“I’d like that, thanks. Funny?” Sometimes????
“Yeah! Don’t you agree, Katsuki-chan?”
Bakugou gestured pointedly towards the door. “Doesn’t he have a kid to take care of outside?”
Izuku laughed. “So eager to get rid of me? I already said I wouldn’t snitch!”
“You really do suck.” he grouched.
As soon as he had officially handed Akiyama over and was back in the corridor, Izuku whipped out his phone, grinning ear to ear.
the terrible threes
allmightsolos is typing…
[9:07am] allmightsolos: guyss who else has liunch duty todayyydsbjkbja????????????????
[9:07am] allmightsolos: lunch** omg
[9:10am] “brochako”: ur scaring me izuku did something happen
[9:10am] allmightsolos: if u have lunch duty i’ll tell u mwahaha
[9:14am] shouto: 🙁.
“So you’re telling me—”
“Shh! Not so loud!”
“You’re telling me that you, in the middle of sending a sick kid home, saw Bakugou-sensei in the middle of disciplining a child who had gotten into a fight, and what. Decided to—and you’re going to have to explain to me why—flirt with him?”
“I feel like I’m being lectured right now. I didn’t flirt with him!” Izuku whined.
Shouto stared at him disbelievingly, jabbing a straw into a milk carton he’d stolen from the cafeteria. Technically, the milk was meant for the kids, but there were always a couple left over, so the lunch ladies never really minded if teachers took some. Especially not Shouto, the charming bastard.
“Really.”
“Yes? He was teasing me—I told you this!”
“Oh? Well that certainly makes a difference.”
“Really?”
Shouto took a long sip. “No.”
They were sat on a bench, looking out at the playground where the children were playing. Izuku thanked the heavens they were both assigned lunch duty that day; as soon as the bell rang, he’d practically dragged Shouto outside—now, they were sharing the lunch that Izuku’s mom had packed between them. Four wraps; two chicken, two tofu (she knew Shouto was firstly vegetarian, and secondly a dirty thief).
“I don’t get it, how do you guys even know each other?” Izuku muttered, kicking at a bench leg. “I’ve been working here for a whole year and never saw him before today.”
“He doesn’t really go near the lower school, unless he has a reason to.”
Shouto reached for the lunchbox, which Izuku moved just out of his reach. “That doesn’t answer my question!”
“Poor Akiyama. Sick, and then on top of that, having to watch Midoriya-sensei make googly eyes at some random sixth-year teacher.” Shouto shook his head pityingly and let his arm drop. Izuku huffed indignantly. “If I was her, I would’ve thrown up a second time.”
“Oh please, she was fine after Toga-san gave her something to drink.”
“To compensate for the emotional damage?”
Izuku jabbed Shouto’s cheek, frowning—the latter took it as an opportunity to snatch his wrap from the bento box. “To bri—help her feel better! And she was on the other side of the room! There’s no harm in talking to someone.”
“Talking.”
“Yeah, talking. Or do you have a better way of describing it?”
“If you’d like.”
Izuku threw his arms up, sighing dramatically.
“Kidding, kidding. Can I have some of your apple juice?”
“Eh, you can have the rest of it.”
There was a brief, comfortable pause as they both ate.
“He’s just so handsome,” Izuku complained mournfully after a while. “And rude. And hot. Only someone that attractive could be that rude.”
“Well, I mean. He’s definitely rude.”
“Is he like that with everyone?” Izuku turned to Shouto pleadingly, clasping his hands together.
Shouto blinked at him. “I can’t tell whether you want me to say yes or no to that.”
Try as he might've, Izuku couldn’t even bring himself to feel slightly ashamed.
Crumpling the milk carton, the other teacher set it down beside him. “ Anyways, are you going to—”
Suddenly, two third-year students, Minami and Katou, came running up to the bench. They were carrying what appeared to be a large rock caked with soil, a skipping rope, and two battered muddy plastic forks. From what Izuku could see, they had likely been digging up rocks in the school field—he’d make sure to speak to them about it later.
“Midoriya-sensei, Shouto-san! We’re doing a skipping competition with the girls, do you want to hold the jump-rope for us?” Minami grinned at them, showing the visible gaps in his mouth where his baby teeth had fallen out.
“That sounds exciting!” Izuku smiled politely, side-eyeing Shouto, who shrugged imperceptibly. “But give us two minutes.”
The pair nodded, and ran back off.
“—are you going to pursue him?” Shouto continued, taking a bite of his wrap.
“Pursue? That sounds so aggressive!”
“What d’you want me to say? ‘Court’?”
Izuku peered at his wrap pensively. “Hmm… No, I don’t think I will.”
“And that’s because…”
“Workplace integrity?”
Shouto nodded, chewing slowly. “Well, that seems reasonable enough.”
“Really?”
“Nope.”
Izuku rolled his eyes as he took the last few bites of his wrap. “Do you want me to be interested in him or not?”
Shouto gave a small chuff of laughter, finishing off his food as well. He dusted off his jeans. “I want whatever you want, Izuku. But I also don’t want you getting fired.”
At that, Izuku couldn’t help his smile. Leaning to the side, he bumped Shouto affectionately with his shoulder. The other teacher gently conked his forehead with the butt of his apple juice carton.
“Oh, also. Izuku?”
“Yes, Shouto?” Izuku stood up. His lunch box lid closed with a satisfying click.
“You owe me lunch until the end of the school year.”